


All Lathered Up

by Citadel_Reddington



Category: The Blacklist (US TV)
Genre: Annoyed Red, Friendship, Humor, Jelly Bean is a problem child..., Tributes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:14:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27482536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Citadel_Reddington/pseuds/Citadel_Reddington
Summary: Tribute to Clark Middleton - Set in episode 2.12Red agrees to take Glen along on the flight to St. Petersburg...and lives to regret it.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	All Lathered Up

**Author's Note:**

> "When you dream too much of the sun, you forget the trees." - Clark Middleton
> 
> Recommended Listening: ' _Runnin' With the Devil _' by Van Halen__
> 
> _  
> _A friend of mine on Twitter asked the Blacklist fanfiction writers to do a piece featuring our favorite Glen "Jellybean" Carter as a tribute to the late great Clark Middleton. I thought what better way to pay respects than a one-shot of their infamous flight to St. Petersburg, because nothing embodies this actor's impeccable work as Jelly Bean like having thirteen straight hours of him getting on every last one of Red's nerves. :)_  
> _

This was a bad idea.

This was a terribly, horribly bad idea.

Red could already feel a migraine blooming behind his left eye as he and Dembe drove to the home of his associate, Glen Carter.

Glen had finally managed to locate the St. Petersburg apartment where Alan Fitch's safe was believed to be located after weeks of coming up empty handed, and promptly leveraged his findings into a trip aboard Raymond’s private jet.

Red still wasn't certain how the man's fake sob story managed to get the better of him.

When the sleek black sedan pulled up to the unassuming brick abode, a bald head could be seen peeking out from a set of dark red curtains on the home's first floor.

Glen waved vigorously from the lit window, yanking the drapes shut and appearing in the front doorway seconds later.

A loud, grating voice echoed out into the still night, "Ma, I'm heading out for a few days, don't wait up!"

"What?" An equally jarring female call came echoing back.

They could see Glen's breathing billowing into the cold winter air.

"I'm leaving with the guys for a few days. There's a lasagna in the freezer, don't forget to take your meds!"

“Okay!" Glen's mother bellowed, "Did you pack your ointments?!”

"Oh dear god..."

Dembe held his laughter quite admirably, watching through the rearview mirror as Raymond clapped a dramatic hand over his eyes.

Why he was allowing Glen to accompany them was still a mystery to Dembe.

The latter knew full well every visit to the DMV left Raymond in such a ferocious temper, he was usually seething for hours. It was a long flight to St. Petersburg, and Dembe was not looking forward to finding out how he would handle the constant and unavoidable negative stimuli that was Glen Carter.

The man in question slid into the passenger seat opposite Red moments later, throwing his oversized duffle bag into the car like a battering ram before slamming the door closed with unnecessary force.

Reddington gave a low, disgruntled grunt when the bag came barreling into him. "Glen, we're only going to be gone a day and a half."

"I like to be prepared for all manner of debauchery.”

The mischievous reply was interrupted by the metallic click of a seatbelt, then the muffled 'oof' of Red shoving the heavy duffle away from him.

Glen turned and grinned smugly back at him, "You and me, big guy, off to see the world. On the lam. _Dodging the feds._ ” His fists punched the air exuberantly, “I am Red-ay for some P.T.O! Hey Demby, you got any Van Halen?"

“No,” came the bodyguard’s soft, stoic reply.

Undeterred, Glen waved an airy hand and dragged the duffle bag into his lap, proceeding to upend its contents onto the space between him and Raymond. ”That's alright. Lucky for you squares, I brought a mix tape."

" _A mix tape_?" Red drawled, flicking a pair of socks off of his lap, "You do realize this is a brand new S-class?”

Glen was still elbows deep in his luggage, tossing an assortment of clothing onto the space between them in his search for the cassette.

“Oh I'm sorry, is your hoity-toity Mercedes too posh for a lowly cassette tape?”

Raymond fixed Glen with an incredulous look, but Dembe beat him to it.

“It is 2014. Mercedes stopped putting cassette players in their sedans about a decade ago.”

The hunt for the elusive tape came to an immediate halt. “Oh. Well, never mind then," he said, looking put-out for a moment before he crammed the contents back into the bag and squished the duffle into the middle seat. Seeming to find a reasonable alternative, he then proceeded to fill the stretch of silence by whistling a loud, out-of-tune version of _Atomic Punk_ and vigorously bobbing his head.

Raymond and Dembe shared one last exhausted look in the rear-view mirror before Glen started drumming a pair of pens noisily on the seat in front of him.

* * *

_Hour 1_

The unlikely threesome were boarding the jet a short fifteen minutes later.

Glen had whistled loudly when they pulled into the private hangar, the sleek white bird within glinting in the overhead lights.

Two people were moving about the plane's exterior; a thin, balding man in navy slacks wearing a neatly pressed button down and a leggy blonde woman in a long-sleeved dress bearing the same navy hue. Both waved merrily to the group when they parked and exited the vehicle, the former donning a black pilot's cap before lifting a small crate to bring aboard.

"Glen, this is my flight crew. Our pilot, Edward, and our flight attendant, Caroline." Raymond gestured to the busy pair, then to Glen, "Edward, Caroline, this is my associate Glen Carter, he's the plus one I mentioned will be accompanying us to St. Petersburg."

Edward gave a curt nod before ascending the flight steps with the parcel of supplies. Caroline politely held out a hand for Glen to shake.

"Hello Mr. Carter, we're happy to have you aboard." She gestured them toward the plane's steps, "If you'd like to settle in, we'll ready for departure."

Red nodded agreeingly, leading the way onto the plane with Dembe following closely behind.

Glen, being the last one up the flight steps, wriggled out of his coat and made a straight line for the cabin’s closet.

An assortment of outerwear hung neatly within. Both Red and Dembe’s heavy winter coats already hung side by side, flanked by a pair of trench coats, two light jackets, and a handful of empty hangers.

Taking one of the empties and hooking his black bomber onto the polished wood, Glen noticed a small brown leather jacket tucked in the compartment’s far end. He immediately pulled it from its hanger and brandished it about.

“Ooh, nice leather,” he said, rumpling the honey-colored material appreciatively, " _Like buttah_.”

The comment drew a pair of volatile green eyes to scowl in Glen’s direction.

"No. _No_ ,” Red snapped, pointing at the garment with an expression of utmost indignation. "Glen, put that right back where you found it."

An aggrieved pout pulled at Glen’s mouth as he turned, still manhandling the jacket. “Alright, alright. Sheesh, it's not really my color anyway."

Raymond continued to glare pointedly at his grubby hands, still clutched antagonizingly around the item. “Put. It. Back."

Glen slid the jacket onto the hanger once more, giving his employer a sly smirk all the while, then slipped the item back onto the rack with a flourish.

“If you’re concerned I’m gonna let slip you’ve got a leather fetish, don’t worry yourself, I’ve still got a pair of red leather bootcuts from the eighties I like to wear around the house.”

Red forced a thin, pained smile to his lips. "Why don't you sit down? If there's a god, I'm sure Edward will start taxiing soon."

Caroline crossed to his side and surreptitiously passed him a glass bearing a stout few fingers of scotch. “Why don’t I handle our new guest while you and Dembe take a breather?”

The subtle suggestion was met with a discreet nod and a grateful pat to her hand before Raymond circled back to the rear of the plane.

Dembe was already settled in his usual seat, sharing a knowing look with Red before opening a new hardcover and disappearing within its pages.

* * *

_Hour 2_

Once they had reached their cruising altitude, the cabin fell blissfully quiet.

The small reprieve in Glen’s incessant talking was a welcome respite, but not quite enough to quell Raymond’s underlying irritation. He was seated opposite Dembe, trying in vain to escape into his own reading material when an unpleasant odor reached his nose.

The two men lifted their heads in tandem, eyes tearing away from their pages with identical questioning looks.

"What is that smell?” Dembe whispered, his nose crinkled in disapproval.

As one, he and Raymond both turned in their seats to see Glen, sitting in front of a portable dvd player with his headphones on. His legs were propped up on the seat beside him, and both his shoes and socks lay cast aside in the middle of the aisle-way.

"M'dogs are barkin’,” he all but shouted, catching their combined gaze and wiggling his toes before returning his attention to his screen.

Dembe looked ill.

“How long is this flight?”

“Thirteen hours."

“And we’ve been in the air... _how long_?”

Red glanced commiseratingly at his watch, “Just over two hours…"

Both heads fell back against their headrests amidst the sound of Glen bellowing a request for more cranberry juice.

* * *

_Hour 3_

The tinkling sound of breaking glass reached Raymond’s ears.

Glen's bald head lifted from the bar cart with a grimace, "Cheap glassware, Red."

" _They're lead crystal_." Raymond barked back, knowing full well the heavy glasses he preferred were far from cheap and nearly shatterproof when the user wasn't being careless.

“I dunno,” Glen attested, “I know a guy who works in glassblowing, and he’d say these are dollar store knockoffs.”

Red felt his left eye twitch, his ire hurtling to a sudden boiling point.

“Those are custom hand-blown double old fashioned glasses created by a team of seven master glass smiths in the heart of Innere Stadt, Vienna. Each set takes a month to complete and the artist’s waiting list stretches into the next decade. So don’t try and tell me the value of what you just broke!”

Glen held up the two large shards of intricately cut glass, “Nothing a bit of Loctite won’t fix.”

This garnered another irate glower, the scathing rebuttal poised at Raymond’s lips was deterred only by Caroline’s appearance with a small handheld vacuum to clean up any microscopic splinters of shattered crystal.

“Thank you, Caroline.”

A hot cup of tea was eased into Raymond’s hand with a patient smile before she waved him back to his seat. “It’s no trouble, Mr. Reddington. We have replacements in the cockpit.”

She knelt and proceeded to vacuum the small stretch of pathway, unaware Glen was waggling his eyebrows and mouthing ‘ _Ooh_ , _Mr. Reddington_ ’ at Red.

Dembe watched the exchange on tenterhooks, waiting for the moment Raymond lost his temper.

Much to his surprise, his friend took a deep, steadying breath and thrust a finger in the direction of Glen's seat, silently demanding that he go and sit down before anything else could be broken.

Glen, seeming to think his work was done, grinned as he meandered back to his seat, then promptly hit Caroline's call button.

* * *

_Hour 4_

"Waddaya mean you don't have the little bags of peanuts?”

Raymond was pinching the bridge of his nose, silently counting to ten, amending the number to amuch higher digit when it wasn’t enough to smother his mounting irritation.

Caroline was trying amiably to redirect Glen toward the myriad of other snacks available, “Well Mr. Carter, we have a wide array of other refresh-”

"This isn't RyanAir, Glen." Raymond griped, unable to help himself, "There's plenty of food in the galley without you having to bother Caroline for a packet of decade-old legumes."

Glen peeked around his headrest, "Agh, it's all bougie crap, weird cheeses, some caviar, those teeny tiny grapes. What is it with you and foods shaped like little balls, anyway?"

"There's a variety of crackers and biscuits in the cabinet." Red gritted, doing his best to be cordial, "Why don't you try those?"

Glen rose with a grunt, made his way over to the pantry cabinet and began rifling noisily through the goods therein. His grating voice continued his incessant commentary from the depths of the galley, "Ya know, I'd be inclined to try the purply cheese you've got, if I wasn’t sure we’d all be regretting my brief foray into the world of lactose. This bird would turn into the Hindenburg, _if ya know what I mean_.”

"That's _my_ cranberry chèvre." Dembe warned darkly, glancing up from the book he was trying to read amidst the other men's noisy bickering.

Red cast an incredulous look at his companion, "Oh, now you have something to say? Where was your indignation when he was ransacking the bar cart?” 

There was no answer to this. Dembe merely blinked sedately back at him and settled into his book once more.

* * *

_Hour 5_

Caroline was better than they deserved.

Red was already calculating a healthy raise and bonus on his flight attendant’s behalf, purely for the poise and tact with which she handled Glen.

Each and every one of his endless and insipid questions was met with the patience and kindness of a saint, allowing Raymond and Dembe a measure of peace and quiet as they neared the halfway mark of their journey, a feat for which they were both grateful.

“You might like these,” she was saying, holding out a sleeve of water crackers. “They’re made with red chili peppers, so there’s a bit of sweet heat at the end. They're delicious. Between you and me, I can sit down and put away an entire sleeve of these without blinking. Come to think of it…” Caroline flashed her regular passengers a suspicious glance, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen those two eat them.”

Both Raymond and Dembe smirked to themselves, refusing to meet her gaze.

They had bought a wide assortment of snacks several months ago after a rather festive meeting with a notable cannabis dealer in Negril, and after testing the crackers in question, both men decided they were no good.

Caroline, however, had fervently disagreed, and thus Red now kept the plane stocked with a few boxes for the sole sake of ensuring she had refreshments of her own to enjoy.

Of course, he would never admit to such a thing. He instead managed to blink innocently up at Caroline’s accusing eyes.

The two shared a mischievous chuckle before Glen’s deafening voice cut the quiet once again.

“Oh? Eating for two, are we sweetcheeks?”

The comment earned him a very nasty look from the rest of the cabin’s occupants.

“ _Glen!_ ”

The accused turned in his seat, seeing Raymond and Dembe both glaring at him. “What?”

Caroline scoffed and lifted the assortment of snacks to take them back to the galley.

Red followed her with but one querulous look at Glen. 

“My deepest apologies, Caroline. Glen has a penchant for getting under people’s skin in every way possible. I assure you he didn’t mean anything by it.”

Caroline squared her shoulders and turned, balled fists sitting on her hips.

“Be that as it may, but you’ve always told me not to take flack from any of your associates, so he’s _your_ problem now. I’m going back up front with Ed.”

Red nodded and gestured that she should absolutely make for the cockpit, again muttering his apologies.

When he turned back to the cabin at large it was to see Glen throwing a handful of grapes into the air, attempting to catch them in his mouth and missing every last one while Dembe looked on in something akin to horror.

* * *

_Hour 6_

Red lay reclined in his seat, a light blanket draped about him to ward off the chill of the cabin.

He was willing himself to catch a few moments of much-needed sleep while Glen was miraculously quiet. There was no telling how long it would last.

Dembe was sprawled in his own seat, head tilted back and mouth parted slightly, completely dead to the world.

It was times like this Raymond coveted the other man's ability to fall asleep at the drop of a hat. Though he knew this trait was no doubt courtesy of Dembe's time in the Mombasa and Eberhardt cartels, it didn't stop Red from periodically staring with envy at his sleeping compatriot, wishing he too could drift off into oblivion.

Though, come to think of it, Dembe did not usually sleep well on the jet. However, with Glen's tiring presence and the lengthy flight guaranteeing their safety for several hours, he had felt comfortable in taking a healthy dose of Melatonin before reclining beneath one of the blankets.

The small bottle of chewable supplements sat on one of the nearby tables, taunting Red with its promise of rest.

A furtive glance was spared for the cabin's third occupant, who was once again engrossed in some show or another. It must not have been a comedy, as the loud guffaws they had been subject to earlier were noticeably absent.

The bright blue light emitting from the small screen was another source of irritation for Red. 

Neither he nor Dembe spent any measurable amount of time engrossed in digital devices, save for the occasional work-related task, or, in Raymond's case, a moment of weakness.

There was a lone tablet in the plane's safe which held a handful of old family videos Dembe had recently had digitized for those particular moments.

That device was the only thing allowing Red to see his family...To watch his daughter play in the grass, to hear her delighted giggle as she scattered hundreds of pearlescent bubbles in her wake...To hear his wife's good-natured chastising when he tried to steal a swipe of frosting from the birthday cake to which she'd added a smattering of tiny candles, only to dab the confection on her cheek so he had an excuse to kiss her there.

The remnants of his life before the Blacklist were tucked safely in that minuscule rectangle, and it was nights like this where Raymond could usually be found lost in its glow.

However, with Glen aboard, he thought it not the best idea. He would have to abstain for the next day or so.

Instead, Red grumpily snatched the bottle of melatonin, popping a couple tablets into his mouth before flopping back into his chair and trying to fall asleep once more.

* * *

_Hour 7_

The cabin had been very quiet for some time.

Caroline thought it an opportune moment to check on their passengers before settling in for a little nap herself.

Her stocking-clad feet wriggled lazily out of Edward's grasp, much to the man's dismay.

Since Glen's uncouth comment about her weight, she had been settled comfortably in the co-captain's seat, her legs draped over the armrest to tuck her feet in Ed's lap.

The action had made him smile broadly, a large, warm hand reaching down to encompass the little appendages, smoothing a broad thumb in pleasurable circles against her high arches. 

Though Edward was thoroughly offended on Caroline's behalf when she told him what their new passenger had said, it was obvious he was also immensely pleased to have her in the cockpit with him. It was a rare occurrence for them to have more than a scant few moments of solitude during a flight. With this particularly lengthy path, they had not expected to see much of each other the whole of these 13 hours. The modern marvel that was auto-pilot allowed them to sit and talk quietly together when she retreated to the secluded room, a most welcome distraction as far as Edward was concerned.

"Where are you off to?" He grumbled, already missing her warmth.

Caroline bent and kissed the crease in his brow, "I want to do a quick walkthrough before grabbing some shut-eye."

Edward nodded, tilting his head back to meet her eyes once more. "You'll come back?"

A mischievous grin lit Caroline's features, "That depends, you gonna rub my feet some more?"

She could still hear Ed chuckling to himself as she slipped on her pumps and stepped out into the dark cabin.

Their unexpected guest was halfway asleep on the left side of the plane, one eye drooping closed while the other bobbed heavily, trying to maintain his focus on the screen he was watching.

Though he may have been a tad rude, Caroline found Glen Carter to be a interesting fellow. He was outspoken, but occasionally quite funny, grating, but sincere at heart.

Hoping for all their sakes that he would sleep soundly, she made sure to drop a pillow and blanket onto the seat across from him with a smile as she passed by.

A quick peek onto the right side of the cabin showed Raymond and Dembe both dozing peacefully.

Caroline noted the melatonin bottle on the table between them and made a mental note to prep the coffee and tea pots so they'd be ready when the pair woke up.

She was just about to turn back to the cockpit when she saw a flash coming from Reddington's torso.

Bending to take a closer look, she recognized the tablet from the plane's safe, a lone earbud plugged into its port leading up to Raymond's left ear.

A small, sad smile plucked at the corner of Caroline's mouth, recognizing he had fallen asleep to the videos the device contained. With a pang of empathy, she lifted the blanket at his waist and shimmied it upward, tucking the ends securely about his shoulders so he was a touch warmer.

Raymond huffed a little in his sleep, then settled once more, thankfully still out like a light.

* * *

_Hour 8_

Red had managed a little over an hour of uninterrupted sleep before nature called, drawing him from his peaceful slumber. He had hurried to use the facilities, hoping he would be able to slip right back under once he returned to his seat. Keeping the lights low proved dangerous in the small cubicle, as he nearly fell asleep resting his head against the side wall.

Raymond washed his hands moments later with an enormous yawn, then flipped the latch and opened the lavatory door only to leap out of his skin at the sight of a figure in the doorframe.

The flailing halted when Raymond recognized the face beaming up at him.

" _For God's sake, Glen!_ "

Glen's response was indignant, "You were taking an awfully long time in there, I was getting worried-"

“ _Please_ , go back to your seat." Red groaned, scrubbing his face with his palm. 

"What were you doing in there?" Glen asked looking knowingly into space behind Raymond, "Was it the purply cheese? I told you Red, it didn't look right-"

" _Glen_."

The man flung his hands up in the air, "Fine but when you get your keister sucked in the john and nobody comes to help ‘cause you're a grumpy gus, don't come cryin' to me!"

Raymond watched him sidle back to the rear of the plane with a barely contained snarl, knowing full well after that kind of jolt to his system, the likelihood of falling back asleep was absolutely zero.

* * *

_Hour 9_

As he'd suspected, sleep remained elusive for Red from there on out. 

To help pass the time, he set about reviewing an array of properties which had come up for sale in the DC metro area in the past month.

Dembe had printed out a slew of listings varying from two to three bedroom apartments in a variety of upscale neighborhoods, collecting relevant information like habitant demographics, crime rates, the distance from the abode to the FBI's Post Office, and nearby amenities.

Raymond was determined to get Elizabeth out of the abysmal motor lodge she had decided to call home for the past several weeks. The place was like a scene out of a bad horror movie, and he was growing weary of having Ezra tail her everywhere she went. She would likely fight him about any property put before her, but Red secretly hoped she would accept the gesture for her own sake.

Elizabeth was still a young woman, and deserved all the life experiences youth afforded. Having a safe, spacious, and aesthetically pleasing living arrangement could go a long way to bolstering her own happiness.

In truth, Red found the task of hunting for real estate extremely enjoyable. It had been many years since he'd had the luxury of looking for a home from a normal citizen's perspective. Every recent purchase had been filtered through black market brokers and under-the-table cash deals. This was his chance to find Lizzie a home that was secure, stunning, and most importantly, all her own.

With a small thrill of excitement, Raymond spread the sheets across the table and lost himself in the sea of listings.

* * *

_Hour 10_

Glen was able to make an earsplitting racket, even in the deepest of sleep.

His snoring managed to startle Dembe as he made his way back from the galley with a pot of tea and two mugs.

Caroline was still asleep in the cockpit, and both men were determined not to bother her as penance for Glen's earlier rudeness.

"I need him, don't I?" Red questioned, taking one of the cups with a grateful nod, "I actually, genuinely, need him on the payroll."

Glen snuffled noisily once more, drawing Raymond and Dembe's combined gaze.

"If you find Glen so grating, why did you invite him along?"

Red sighed, "He said he'd never been out of the country before, spun this story about how his father only ever took them on road trips..."

"He lied?” Dembe’s eyebrows rose incredulously, “ _And you fell for it?_ ”

Raymond held both his palms aloft, “In my defense, it was a very convincing sob story.”

“Working with the Taskforce has made you so soft.” Dembe was working very hard not to laugh, his lips pursed in a tight smile at Raymond’s expense.

"I'm not soft." Red snipped, appalled by the very notion that he secretly nursed a soft, squishy interior.

A deafening, sputtering snore shook the cabin once more.

' _Soft_.' Dembe mouthed tauntingly, an ear-to-ear grin lighting his features at the other man’s bad-tempered scowl.

"Next time I'm leaving you behind too," Raymond warned, grabbing a pair of ear plugs and cramming them in his ears before returning to his listings. "Then we'll see who's soft."

Red thankfully couldn't hear Dembe's low chuckling. The younger man knew full well he wouldn’t be left anywhere.

Nobody got this kind of reaction out of Raymond, and Dembe couldn’t help but take some small measure of amusement in his friend’s annoyance with their uninvited guest.

* * *

_Hour 11_

Glen was awake and in rare form.

Dembe, his apparent target for the morning, grimaced with each step as he was followed to and fro about the plane and forced to listen to some inane story about a girl Glen had met in Phoenix who turned out to have a beard.

"-and you know, it wouldn't have been such an issue if it weren't so damn scratchy..."

The bodyguard spared a querulous peek at Raymond, still studiously buried in his listings aside from a small, knowing smirk. Dembe’s unyielding brown eyes silently informed him he held Red personally responsible for his current predicament.

“You know I’ve always been proud of my goatee, but this girl might have had me beat…”

* * *

_Hour 12_

“Theodore I’m loathe to throw my weight around, but I’m at my wit’s end. She's been living in this god-forsaken motel for weeks, and I'm adamant on getting her out of there. The apartment's location is stunning, as I remember, but you and I both know your employer has always maintained four-bedroom homes as her mainstay for a reason. The apartment at the Audrey is too small to be a profitable safehouse for the network. I’m merely asking to purchase it at a premium so I can get Elizabeth out of her current predicament. With a cash purchase significantly above black market value, the network can go hunting for a new location that’s more suited to the services you provide.”

Raymond was on the phone with a long-time acquaintance in the safehouse game. After finding none of the available listings suitable, he recalled an immaculate apartment he had once stayed at while in DC on business which would be perfect for Lizzie. The glossy photos were now spread out before him in the pages of a black folio, just as resplendent as he remembered.

The safehouse owner's right hand was proving to be a difficult sell, not wishing to make decisions about the properties without direct orders, but Red knew he could be persuaded if he could just find the right leverage.

“Swanky digs,” Glen whistled as he passed by, leaning into Red’s personal space so he might get a better view of the photos showing the immaculate apartment overlooking the Potomac. “Don’t you have enough places to hang your hat?”

"Teddy, just think it over and I'll call you tomorrow. I'd be heavily in your debt." Raymond hung up the phone and quickly shuffled the paperwork, tapping it into a neat stack then sliding it back into the folder from whence it came. The item and its corresponding black book were slid into a leather bag which occupied the seat beside him before he lifted a stern gaze to the source of his annoyance.

“Don’t you have a seat you should be in? We’re about to land.”

Glen was just about to fire off a retort when Caroline came around with an assortment of warm pastries to tempt him away from her employer.

She lured the man back to his seat with but one reassuring nod toward Reddington, who pointedly pulled out his notebook, turning to the page where the notes on her raise and bonus resided and added another zero.

* * *

_Hour 13_

The plane finally touched down in a private airstrip outside of St. Petersburg an hour later.

A sprawling hangar was made available to them by a prominent Russian oligarch whom Raymond knew well, permitting them to stow the bird before boarding one of Red's quintessential black town cars and heading directly for the apartment in question.

The sooner they got to the safe, the sooner they could turn right around and head back to DC.

With Lizzie and the taskforce on the trail of Justin Kenyon, recovering the second piece of the Fulcrum was well under way.

Raymond was certain Elizabeth had unearthed the most important piece of the Fulcrum, but as of yet she wasn't admitting anything. It would take some convincing, but if he could manage to secure the bubble module which had gone missing the night of the fire, he could ensure the détente between himself and the Cabal remained intact. 

His life was once again quite literally on the line. He hoped Lizzie would realize this and be willing to meet him halfway.

Perhaps securing a magnificent apartment for her would help smooth things over?

Red scoffed quietly to himself. The thawing of Lizzie's icy demeanor toward him was about as likely as Glen going the entire car ride without speaking.

The thought barely managed to take shape in his mind when that harsh voice came slicing through the peaceful silence.

"So what are Russian broads like, anyway?" 

* * *

**_Not_ ** _Alan Fitch's Apartment - St. Petersburg, Russia_

The sound of a toilet flushing reached Red's ears after he finished his conversation with Lizzie. 

The news from the Kenyon compound left him anxious and irritable, concerned for both her safety and the continued secrecy of the contraband stored there. If the subterranean container beneath the property's sanctuary was compromised, he was as good as dead.

Red turned to see Glen exciting the bathroom, still doing up his fly and securing his belt.

"You're sure this is the apartment?"

"This is the apartment."

"You're positive?" Red pressed, not at all convinced.

Glen gave him a chastising scowl, "Your tone is insulting."

"My _tone_?" Raymond barked, reaching the fraying ends of his patience, "I endured _thirteen_ hours with you on my jet, twelve of which you had your shoes off! You snored. You insulted my flight attendant."

"I thought she was pregnant!" Glen defended himself, throwing his hands up in the air.

“Glen. The safe." Red gave a sardonic look about the room, flinging his arms wide to showcase the ransacked apartment. "We haven't found it yet, have we?”

Glen jabbed a finger at him, "I know everything one could possibly know about Alan Fitch. I worked on this round the clock, and you know how irritable I can be if I don't get my ten hours."

Raymond shook his head, biting back the diatribe threatening to burst forth.

"I've reviewed six years of bank records and I traced the cash payment he made to purchase an apartment in this very building, on this very floor." Glen smiled knowingly, "Trust me, the safe is here."

"I don't trust you." said Raymond with another shake of his head, not entertaining even a moment's hesitation.

Glen's eyebrows rose slightly before he meandered over to his briefcase. He flipped the clasps and pulled a document from within, then knocked the lid closed and handed the sheet of paper to Reddington.

"What is this?" Red grumbled, holding the paper at a distance so he could read the fine print.

A look of undisguised triumph illuminated Glen's features, "The title to apartment 221. Apology accepted."

That look fell when Red scowled ferociously down at him.

"What?"

An unpleasant twitch tugged at Raymond's upper lip, his fury just barely contained as he ground out the words...

"We're in apartment 212."

* * *

_Apartment 221 - St. Petersburg, Russia_

"You don't know the cross that I bear, the things I've had to overcome."

Glen complained to anyone who'd listen as Red and his team tore through the correct apartment this time.

"My dyslexia..."

"You're not dyslexic." Red griped, striding through the dining room in search of more paintings to uncover.

Dembe's voice could be heard above the din, halting him in his tracks and drawing his attention to a wall on the opposite side of the room.

Glen seemed appalled by Red's response, "Oh, really, Doctor? Is that your professional opinion?"

The safe was tucked behind the painting Dembe carefully removed, and Raymond moved quickly to dial the combination amidst Glen's continued blathering.

"I forgot to pack my medication. I was shocked when you told me I could come along. It threw me. I left my dyslexia pills on the counter-"

Whipping around, Red barked, "There are no pills for dyslexia!"

An echoing silence engulfed the room, and Glen’s eyes wandered to any available surface but Raymond’s face.

The sudden quiet allowed him to return his attention to Dembe, handing over the card stock with the unidentified number and requesting his team run a trace to find out who was waiting on the other end of the line.

* * *

_Later that Evening - Reddington's Safehouse - St. Petersburg, Russia_

Raymond wasn't sure why he was doing this.

After his argument with Glen at Alan Fitch's apartment, he, Glen, and Dembe retired to the safehouse to get some much needed rest.

Edward needed a few more hours of sleep before they could depart, and in an effort to maintain a positive relationship with his finder, Red set out to bury the hatchet.

When he reached the doorway to the second guest bedroom, he found Glen laying atop the bedcovers, nose buried in some kind of handheld computer game.

Red cleared his throat once, twice, waiting for the other man to look up from his pastime before muttering, “Dembe and I are heading out and wanted to know if you would join us.”

"Oh, are we speaking to me now?" Glen grumbled, rotating to sit on the edge of the bed.

Raymond barely managed to contain an eye roll. "Are you coming along or not?"

Glen tilted his head back and forth, "I think I deserve an apology first. You questioned my abilities earlier. It wasn't nice. You hurt me deep, Red."

"You had us tearing apart the wrong apartment." He retorted, "Dembe had to go and drum up tens of thousands in unmarked bills to cover the damaged property so nobody knew we were there. Not to mention that Baccarat vase which Chuck bumped into."

The other man gave a woeful shrug, "It's not my fault your thugs got a little clumsy with their surroundings.”

Another snarl plucked haphazardly at Raymond’s upper lip. He was on the cusp of walking out the door and leaving Glen to find his own way back to the States.

Glen took his heated silence as a concession, practically bouncing off the mattress seconds later. "So, where we going? Picking up chicks? I've got a velour suit I've been waiting to try out..."

Red quietly clenched his fist, feeling his knuckles crack ominously.

This was a terrible idea.

* * *

Half an our later, Raymond, Dembe, and Glen came striding into one of the most exclusive lounges in the Russian underground.

Lada, the club's owner, was a friend of Red's and was more than happy to grant them entry to the establishment's VIP wing.

Glen looked a little out of place in his velour suit, the dark maroon fabric a tad ostentatious in the sea of dark and expensive wool and silk. The suit matched his personality, however, and much to everyone’s surprise, the consortium of beautiful women in the establishment found the oddly-dressed American to be a very amusing companion.

They dined on oysters, caviar, and bottle service of Lada’s signature vodka, a masterful rarity only available in that very club. It was an enjoyable evening filled with the kind of decadence Raymond was used to and that Glen had been eager to experience.

Dembe remained alert, though no shortage of women in the vicinity were vying for his undivided attention. The strapping all-black suit he kept for such occasions was an excellent cut, enhancing the younger man’s fit physique and drawing more attention from admirers than he would prefer.

Lada could always be relied upon to send the ladies scurrying, monopolizing Dembe’s opposite side so he was safely sequestered between her and Raymond, away from the women's occasionally aggressive attentions.

Some time later, Red watched as the stunning blonde he had been speaking to flounced haughtily across the lavish bar area, yet another beautiful prospect driven away by his outspoken associate.

Stern green eyes leveled reprovingly on Glen, who was also watching the woman’s retreat, lips pursed tightly shut.

He shifted furtively in his seat, meeting the accusing glare with a look of utmost innocence.

"What? You looked like you needed a wingman!"

Raymond tutted his tongue and signaled the barkeep for yet another refill, resigning himself to the fact he would be spending the evening solely in Glen's company.

* * *

Dembe was sniggering to himself while sliding the keys into the safehouse's locks.

Raymond and Glen were stumbling up the house's steps, draped over one another and howling a raucous tune to which they'd forgotten half the words.

One of the nearby neighbors leaned out the window and bellowed at them in rapid Russian, most likely telling them to shut the hell up, to which Raymond called back in a very slurred Moscow dialect which completely failed to get his point across.

The front door fell closed with a thud once they were all inside pealing off heavy outer layers and gracelessly kicking off snow-caked boots.

Dembe set about checking the home's security before retiring while Raymond and Glen flopped into opposite armchairs in the lounge to resume their drinking.

The room was warm and inviting with its merrily crackling fireplace which cast a soft golden glow over the sumptuous furnishings and plush carpets. It was a few short hours before they were due back at the hangar, and it seemed the pair were content to continue their festivities in the provided comfort until they were due to leave.

Glen loosened his belt with a groan, full to bursting from so much food and alcohol. “You’re a lucky man, Red…This is the life.“

Raymond draped a leg over the arm of his chair, a heavy crystal glass already dangling from his fingertips which he raised in a toast to Dembe when he bid them all goodnight.

“Am I?” He returned to their conversation as though uninterrupted, “I assure you the life of an international fugitive is not all it’s cracked up to be.”

Glen actually snorted with laughter.

“Are you kidding? You’ve got the whole world at your fingertips. Just a phone call, and you’re _whoosh_ ,” he made a swishing gesture with his finger in the air, “Off on the next adventure. Most people would give anything for that kind of freedom.”

Raymond’s features darkened, the glow of the fireplace giving his weary eyes a haunted shadow. “They don't know what it costs. It’s not just money that builds an empire like this. They don’t understand.”

Glen turned in his seat, eyeing him with a look of distinct befuddlement. “ _Don’t understand_? Come on, Red, haven’t you ever wanted something more?”

“More?" Raymond's head lolled from side to side, "God, no. If anything I’ve wanted for less; less obligation, less concerns, less chaos. I’ve often found myself longing for the simplicity of life’s small enjoyments."

Across the room, Glen was entirely unconvinced.

“That’s all well and good, but us normal people long for the wealth and excitement your life brings.”

Red pursed his lips at the ceiling, waving his drink through the air. “Make no mistake Glen, I’ve learned to enjoy every moment as though it were my last, as it very well may be. That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t sell my soul for a quiet garden in which to sit and read one more good book, to sleep soundly in a cool bed, wrapped in the arms of a warm woman…"

A somber silence engulfed the room as Red’s list of desires trailed off into a distant memory which now felt more like a fake fairytale than a former reality.

Glen looked at him, really, truly looked at him, for the first time.

Reddington was lost in the recesses of his mind, the longing he spoke of written clearly on his face.

On the surface, the man had everything anyone could possibly desire. However, Glen was just now realizing how much of life’s most simple joys, for Red, would be forever unattainable. Though some of those same things remained elusive for Glen, the idea of not having the slightest hope of obtaining what so many took for granted gave him pause.

The stripping down of Raymond Reddington’s super-human facade made Glen feel a little awkward. He wasn’t exactly sure what to say to make the other man feel better. His strong suits lay in finding things and exploiting them, like Red’s last nerves. He wasn't great spades at comforting anyone.

“I hate when the sheets are cold. Bothers my sciatica.”

The statement was all Glen could come up with at the moment, but to his surprise, it made Red chuckle.

“What about Caroline?” He tried again, eager to guide the conversation to somewhere more pleasant. “She seems to like you.”

Raymond wrinkled his nose and exhaled a heavy sigh, “Caroline is an employee, and she and Edward have been in a long term relationship for years.”

“Ah…” Glen grimaced, disappointed he had struck out by recommending the only known female in Reddington’s employ besides Kaplan, whom he knew batted for the other team.

The somber quiet continued where it had left off, dragging the mood down with it.

“You know what my old man used to tell me?” He asked finally, pulling the last ace from his sleeve.

Raymond turned to meet his gaze. “Hmm?”

Glen blinked twice then looked up to the ceiling, his fingertip tracing along the intricate patterns in the crown moulding.

“When you dream too much of the sun, you forget the trees.”

“That’s... _poetic_ ,” said Red, working to keep his tone amiable. To him, the quote sounded a bit like something one would find on a greeting card for an ill person.

Glen was entirely unfazed, “Just think about it; you’ve got the very best in life at your beck and call every second of every day. Yet here you are, focused on the few things in this world you don’t have. The longing takes away from just how great your life is. You’re healthy, you have wealth and freedom, you can do whatever you want, go anywhere, throw your weight behind those things which really matter to you.”

“How would you know what matters-” Raymond began but Glen waved an airy hand.

“You had me find that poacher back in 2011. I heard he got eaten by a pack of lions in western Zimbabwe, and I know it wasn’t over some personal vendetta. You just didn’t like that he was butchering endangered animals for personal gain.”

Red fell silent at this, knowing full well he had no leg to stand on in such an argument. He did leave that poacher in the center of a lion’s den to be torn apart by the very creatures whose skins he had been peddling. The end was gruesome, but it felt like justice at the time.

He supposed Glen’s father was right, it did no good to dwell on what he lacked when what he had was more than enough for anyone to celebrate over. Though the victories often felt hollow, Raymond frequently used his empire to right a great many wrongs in this world. It wasn't all bad, he decided.

Glen, recognizing his words had hit home, offered a reassuring smile.

“It’s not as dark and dreary out here as you might think, Red. You’re just searching so hard for a drop of sunlight, you’re missing some truly magnificent trees.”

Raymond wasn’t sure if it was Glen’s words or the umpteenth glass of scotch kicking in, but he felt oddly better.

* * *

A handful of entirely too short hours later, the house's occupants were awake and drudging wearily through the first floor in search of some kind of sustenance.

Raymond crossed the hall between the living room and kitchen with his mind on a cold, refreshing glass of juice to soothe his cottonmouth, only to turn the corner and see Glen’s bare backside peaking out from the open fridge.

“What the hell, Glen? Where are your clothes??”

Glen stood upright, looking incredulously over the top of the refrigerator door. “What? I got sensitive skin, my dermatologist insists I air dry.”

Red caught sight of a disheveled Dembe in the opposite doorway.

He had just taken a step in the room, blinking sleepily several times before registering the scene before him. Without a word, he promptly took a step backward, turned his back on the pair of them and left.

"No dermatologist told you to air dry." Raymond contested, averting his eyes to the ceiling with a groan when Glen closed the refrigerator door.

“I was thirsty!" He changed tack at top speed, "You know how cranky I get when I haven’t had my morning OJ, throws my blood sugar all out of whack.”

Rather than continue the argument, Red clapped a hand over his eyes and turned blindly for the door from whence he came.

"Edward is ready for us. We're leaving in twenty minutes, I expect you to be ready and fully clothed in that amount of time."

He could hear Glen's laughter calling in the distance, “See you in twenty!"

* * *

The plane’s cabin was dead quiet on the flight home, thanks to the minimal sleep had by all parties involved.

Glen was snoring heavily in his seat, a packet of honey roasted peanuts laying open on his chest.

Caroline had graciously located the coveted legumes in a small shop outside the airstrip, and had the treat waiting on Glen's seat for when they arrived.

He had brandished the goods about with a delighted grin, declaring Red had finally stopped being so cheap and gotten the good stuff. This was quickly followed by a polite thank you to Caroline, whom he recognized had gone out of her way to secure the snack he had been hoping for.

Dembe, after doing a bit of work on the secure laptop, had fallen back asleep, his head resting against one of the closed windows.

Raymond too had slept most of the way back to DC, far too tired and hungover to do much else.

* * *

Caroline sent them on their way thirteen hours later with warm cups of coffee and tea, as well as a few toasty pastries to tide them over.

'"Where shall we drop you?" Red asked Glen, taking one of the to-go cups gratefully before disembarking the jet.

“At my place of work, if you please.” Glen replied, giving Edward and Caroline a wink before taking one of the coffee cups as well.

Raymond was surprised at this, turning confusedly once they were all in the town car. "You're not heading home to rest?”

Glen took a long sip of coffee, giving a loud 'ahhhh' of satisfaction before responding. “Nah, why take another day off? I slept like a baby on the jet. Aren’t you heading to shake down some thugs or something?"

"Certainly not," Red disagreed, turning to watch the city speeding past, "A thirteen hour flight off a drunken night in St. Petersburg is enough to put anyone out of commission for a few hours, at least."

“Speak for yourself," said Glen, "I'm gonna be back just in time for Bagel Friday at the DMV."

At the next red light, Dembe plugged in the small electrical device Raymond had heard him refer to as an iPod and hit play.

The first few chords was all it took for Glen to roar with laughter. 

"To make up for our lack of cassette player," Dembe explained with a small, amused smile, cranking the volume a little more.

Van Halen's ' _Runnin' with the Devil'_ came blaring out the expensive sound system, rocking the car's interior with the roar of an electric guitar.

Glen was delighted with this turn of events, tapping his hand rhythmically on the back seat's side panel and singing the lyrics with far too much pep for a man of a whirlwind trip to Russia with an international fugitive.

The thought made Red grin as well, bobbing his head in time with the music in spite of himself.

* * *

The vehicle pulled up to the DMV's lackluster facade a short while later, whereupon Glen disembarked, stopping to lean in to the car's cabin to bid farewell.

"Well Red, Dembe, it's been real. I'll see you squares around."

"Thank you Glen, for everything."

Though it had been a rough go at first, Raymond was incredibly grateful for Glen's hand in locating Alan's apartment. He doubted the man realized the full impact of his assistance on the continuity of Red's life. He was very much in the man's debt.

"Any time," Glen waved off the other man's gratitude, "Whatever you need Red. I'm the guy who gets things done. Dembe."

He gave a nod to the driver's seat, earning a polite smile and reciprocating nod from Dembe before closing the rear door with a heavy thud.

Looking down, Red caught site of a postcard sitting unassumingly on the seat Glen had just vacated.

It showed a painting of a secluded garden, bursting with blooming trees and budding flowers. An old-fashioned stone bench sat in the center, a thick tome lay waiting on its surface.

Raymond lifted the card and turned it over, seeing Glen's untidy scrawl across the back.

_Red-_

_Thanks for the adventure...Don't forget the trees._

_-Jelly Bean_

Glancing back at the DMV, Raymond couldn’t help but laugh as he caught Glen giving a stiff salute and flashing another mischievous grin before disappearing inside the wide double doors.

**Author's Note:**

> All dialogue from 2x12 is copyright of The Blacklist.
> 
> I do not own any of the Blacklist characters.


End file.
